


The Bridge to Total Freedom

by eckcro



Series: Suburban Danvid Family AU [1]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cult, Daniel is an actual scientologist, Daniel is delusional, Daniel roughing it in the woods, Danvid Family, David’s first real appearance is in chapter 4, Ex-Cultist, Honestly the first few chapters are just gonna be setup/context for the brunt of the story, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suburban Danvid Family AU, Unreliable Narrator, dadniel, dadvid, diverges after parents’ night, scientology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eckcro/pseuds/eckcro
Summary: Daniel hated David. He hated his smile, his endless capacity for kindness, and — most of all — that David had bested him.After escaping from the hospital, Daniel makes his way back to Camp Campbell, intent on revenge. Unfortunately, he’s got no plan, and he’s still sick from the rat poison. In the time it takes for him to recover, Daniel might find that he doesn’t hate David so much after all.





	1. The First Dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I’ve been tying to work on my fic for Jesus Camp AU for a while, but then my dumb ass went and made another AU and of course I immediately wrote something for it instead.

Daniel’s stomach heaved violently, urged on by the sharp pain in his abdomen. He stumbled, tripping over roots and fallen branches as his vision blurred with tears. For a moment, he was moving forward blindly, sure that he would trip and fall at any second. Then he felt his shoulder connect heavily with the sturdy trunk of a tree. He leaned against it gratefully, steadying himself as he dry-heaved. Saliva escaped the corners of his mouth and dribbled down to his chin, collecting there before dripping onto the forest floor.

He wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. It came away bloody.

Gritting his teeth, Daniel pushed himself off of the tree and continued deeper into the woods. As he limped onward, his thin blue hospital gown kept getting tangled in bushes and caught on thorns and vines. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He simply tugged until the edges ripped away, never stopping to properly untangle himself. And why should he care about something so trivial? There was only one thing that was truly important, only one thing he needed to focus on. If only he wasn’t so weak—

A sharp snap came from underneath him, and Daniel suddenly found himself lying face-down in the dirt. His whole body spasmed, muscles twitching pathetically in a vain attempt to fight against the poison corrupting his system. Rocks and twigs poked harshly into him, and he let out a pained groan. For a time, he was aware of only the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and the low hum of insects. Daniel could feel the patches where sunlight was able to breach the tree line, imagined the heat growing in intensity until it swallowed him up; until his body erupted in a billowing pyre, his thetan released into the clear blue sky.

He must have passed out, for the next thing Daniel remembered was the cool slant of late afternoon light. A breeze blew along the forest floor, and he shivered. Whoever had invented hospital gowns ought to be dug up and killed again, he thought bitterly to himself.

When he finally found strength enough to move, Daniel discovered that his legs had grown even weaker than before. Just rising to his knees took a herculean effort. A quick mental scan of his body revealed that sometime between lying on the ground and sitting up, his nose had started bleeding; a muscle in his left foot would not stop twitching; a constellation of bruises was blooming all over his pale skin.

The reality of his body’s mortality hit him all at once. That would not be a problem — should not be a problem — except Daniel had unfinished business. If he died now, his thetan would move on, be reincarnated into some other form. He could become anything, might end up anywhere. There was no guarantee that he’d even return to Earth.

But the man he hated lived here, on Earth. Therefore, Daniel also had to remain on Earth. He had unfinished business; he could not leave yet. He’d be damned if he didn’t finish what he’d come to do, refused to be denied delivering just retribution upon the one who had dared to stand in his way.

Before he knew it, he was standing, feet moving him jerkily towards his destination: the campgrounds. Every part of his body urged him to stop, to rest, but he clenched his fists and pushed on. Setting his jaw, Daniel resolutely ignored the angry spasming of his stomach, the achy hollowness of his arms, the tremor in his legs. He had to push past the pain — knew how to push past pain. He just had to remember how. He just needed his body to remember how.

Night was rapidly approaching, the low sun casting long shadows all around him. Daniel knew he shouldn’t continue all night. He was already weak and tired, and traveling in the dark would be dangerous. Still, what else was he to do? He had yet to reach the camp proper, and was in no state to construct even a basic shelter for himself.

A soft breeze blew by, carrying on it the sound of crickets and the smell of summer. Warm, pleasant summer. Daniel briefly allowed himself to revisit a different summer. A better summer, warmer and comforting.

_A man was leaving the Auditing Center, walking down the steps to the paved road where a group of children played. As soon as they caught sight of him, they rushed forward to greet him, eyes glittering with admiration and excitement. Daniel reached the man first, tugging on the man’s sleeve and looking up in wonderment._

_“I want to be an auditor when I grow up, just like you!” he said, bouncing lightly on his heels._

_The crowd of children had reached the two, jostling each other playfully. They stretched their arms out, clambering for his attention, all of them speaking at once._

_“Auditing is a very serious responsibility. As an auditor, you’ll be responsible for helping other people reach spiritual enlightenment.” Daniel tried to reign in his emotions, but couldn’t stop his face from falling. “Still…” here, the man leaned in, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially. “I’m sure you’ll make a great auditor,” he encouraged, smiling and ruffling Daniel’s hair. Daniel beamed._

Daniel stiffened as the breeze turned cold. It was twilight now, and he could hear nocturnal beasts rustling far off in the trees.

From somewhere nearby, an owl cried. Spooked, Daniel tripped over his own feet, crashing once again to the ground. This time, he managed to shoot his arms out in front of himself to catch his fall. Rocks scraped the palms of his hands, but he couldn’t quite manage to prevent his forehead from making impact with a rock. He felt a sharp pain in his forehead, sucked in a surprised breath as his vision flashed white, then lay still, catching his bearings.

Blood dripped down his forehead, over his right eyelid. It curled around his eye, continuing down his cheekbone, down and down until it dripped onto the rocks beneath him. His vision cleared slowly, still slightly spotty as he heaved himself — yet again — to his feet.

It was then that Daniel caught sight of the cabin. It was an old, dingy thing, rotten and decaying. A section of the roof had caved in, and vines were creeping over the timbers. Tall trees crowded closeby, bushes and moss encroaching on the ramshackle building.

Daniel shuffled closer, pushing past bushes and clawing vines away from the door. It took far longer than it should have — that is, longer than it would have taken had he been in better shape. He finally cleared enough vegetation away from the door to turn the handle and press it open. When he pushed, dust and dirt came off on his hands, hinges letting out an awful scream. Instinctively, Daniel’s hands shot up to cover his ears. After a moment, he lowered his hands back to the door and finished pushing it open.

Inside was dark and damp. Stepping through the doorway, Daniel was immediately greeted by a cobweb to the face. He jerked back, momentarily surprised, then reached up and wiped the cobweb off on his hospital gown. Already, he was wondering if he would’ve been better sleeping outside. Then again, at least there was a roof in case it started raining in the middle of the night, and the walls provided some protection from wild animals.

Resigning himself to his fate, Daniel laid down on the hard floor and closed his eyes.

~~~

The morning dawned crisp and bright. A shaft of sunlight illuminated Daniel’s face, waking him slowly and gently. Cracking open his eyes, Daniel saw that there was a gaping hole in the side of the cabin that hadn’t been visible in the night. He took a moment to just gaze outside, letting his eyes focus on nothing.

Daniel shifted, and was suddenly made aware of the ache in his muscles. Coming back to himself, Daniel groaned. That’s what he got for sleeping on the ground, he supposed. Daniel forced himself to sit up, rubbing the crust from his still-bleary eyes. He stretched, all of his muscles loudly voicing their complaints.

A small squirrel watched him from above, tilting its head curiously. It chittered, jumping down to a lower beam. Its round, beady eyes watched him intently, as though examining him for signs of weakness that it could exploit. While it probably detected plenty of weakness, it apparently decided it couldn’t make use of any of them, as after a few quick twitches of its tail, it turned and leapt up, exiting through the hole in the roof. It was probably off to find more food to store for the winter, Daniel mused.

At the thought, his stomach growled a loud and painful protest, letting up only after Daniel was curled up in a fetal position — lying on the ground once again. Right, food. When was the last time he’d eaten? It must have been a couple days ago, and with the rat poison still in his system… As much as Daniel wanted to go after David right away, he had to admit to himself that he needed food first. He needed food, proper rest, and a plan. Normally, Daniel would've already had one, but considering his impaired state… well, it wasn’t exactly surprising that his usual control was gone.

After several long moments, Daniel managed to talk himself into standing up. He struggled to his feet, having to try several times before managing to stand without collapsing. Although his legs were still shaking, and he was leaning heavily on a long stick he’d just picked up off the ground, he was standing. He was standing, and he was going to find food.

Daniel supposed he should start where he’d left off the previous night: searching for the campgrounds. He was in no shape to hunt, catch, kill, and prepare any animals, and he had no knowledge of what nuts and berries were safe to eat. The easiest way to get food would be to find the campgrounds, sneak into the kitchen, and steal some.

Outside, the grass was wet with dew, and the air smelled clean and fresh. Daniel slipped his eyes shut and took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. As he exhaled, he felt his body begin to relax. With each breath, his body relaxed more and more, and his shaking legs began to stabilize.

He let his mind wander, first to the dirt and grass under his bare feet, then deeper, to the rich topsoil dotted with pebbles, insects burrowing deep beneath the surface. Their many tiny legs wiggled and squirmed as they dug many tiny tunnels. Deeper, deeper, to the groundwater, to the fractured rock. Traveling back up through the spaces between the soil, up through the dirt and rocks, to the grass and then trees, sky and clouds.

Small beads of moisture clung to each leaf, each needle, each flower and blade of grass. The dewdrops glistened, each a universe of their own, filled with tiny motes of dust and particles from living things. The sun was slowly climbing, radiating heat and warming the air. Its rays reached out, seeking every nook and cranny, grabbing at the heavy, gleaming drops of dew, slowly drawing them up into the sky through which the morning songbirds sent their whistling tunes. Far above — miles and miles — clouds shifted in a wind that could not be felt from the ground. Daniel allowed the eye that was his mind to explore all of this, lingering on each thing for an infinitely long, yet infinitesimally small, amount of time. And all around him, life. Death. Matter, energy, space, and time caught in each other's embrace.

After a minute of standing still — still leaning on his walking stick for support — Daniel returned his awareness to his body and opened his eyes. A humming energy started in his feet, climbing through his veins and nerves and urging him on. He turned sharply, heading west. Something told him that was the way to go.

It was about an hour until he first heard the river. He heard the current beating against rocks, could almost feel the spray. Daniel made his way towards the river, legs wobbly and stomach tight. Closer, closer, until the sound of the water filled his ears and he broke through the tree line to the rocky banks. Loud and swift, the river ran roughly southeast, sloping with the land, twisting around bends, pulling rocks and sticks and leaves along with it.

He would travel upstream. Daniel remembered a lake — there was a lake near the campgrounds. A mountain, the tip visible from above the treetops, roughly northwest. The mountain, ahead. The lake, beside. The ground, sloped down, shaping the river’s path. The lake would be ahead of him. The water that made up the river would come from the lake. The lake would be filled from rivers snaking down the mountain. The mountain was ahead of him, and the river flowing towards his back. The lake — and therefore, the camp — would be between him and the mountain.

Rocks poked at his bare feet as he stumbled along, sometimes losing his footing, often getting his walking stick stuck in cracks. As the sun rose, the rocks absorbed its heat, until the rocks were no longer cool and round underfoot, but warm. The spray from the river kept them from becoming too hot to walk on, for which Daniel was grateful, but did not dwell on.

At around noon — he had no way of knowing exactly, since the hospital had taken his watch — Daniel caught sight of the flagpole, flag flapping happily in the wind above the mess hall. He had to be careful now. He could no longer depend on the dense forest for cover, the distance and isolation for hiding. The campers would be out, the counselors would be guiding them. Some would stray from the group, and Daniel had to be careful not to be spotted.

Although he’d only been to the camp once before, for less than a day, he could remember the layout of the camp. It wasn’t that complicated, after all. The mess hall was located centrally, with the cabins slightly east, and the amphitheater and activity field northwest and due west, respectively. North was the lake. South was the long dirt path back to the street. It was around noon, so Daniel could only assume the campers would be eating lunch.

Seeing buildings — solid, well-kept ones — for the first time in days made Daniel take a moment to consider his appearance. He was wearing the rags of a hospital gown, dirty and scuffed; he hadn’t showered or shaved for quite some time, and his hair was turning into a rat’s nest. His body was covered in bruises, and he was sure he had the most hideous bags underneath his eyes. Not to mention the large scrape on his forehead, caked blood still flaking off. He probably looked quite the savage, all wild eyes and sun-baked complexion.

That wasn’t important, not at the moment. Nobody would be seeing him — nobody should be seeing him — not yet. First things first, he reminded himself. Without survival, there can be nothing else. Food. Clean water. Survival. Those were the important things at the moment. A thin camp mattress, if he could manage it. Food. Clean water. Rest. Those were the keys to his survival.

First, he would take care of survival, and then…

David.


	2. Tone Scale 1.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I’m going to try to keep a regular update schedule (once a day or once every other day). I promise, things are gonna start picking up in the next chapter.
> 
> Contact me on Instagram at http://instagram.com/eckcro, or message me anonymously at https://eckcro.sarahah.com

The kitchen light was off. Daniel slipped through the doorway, closing it quietly behind himself. He cast a quick glance around the room, carefully cataloging every item, every appliance, every loose screw and cracked tile. Edging forward, Daniel ran a mental checklist of items to acquire. Non-perishable food, can-opener, water bottle, matches or lighter, small pot, knife.

But first, he needed a way to carry it all — a sort of rucksack or something comparable would be preferable. The pantry would likely have sacks or large bags, so Daniel cracked open the pantry door and entered, making sure to prop the door open ever so slightly with a stray soup can. It was dark, the only light coming from the crack in the doorway. Daniel was tempted to find the light switch, to turn it on, but he knew that doing so would only increase his risk of being caught.

Sure, he had carefully waited in the bushes until the campers had finished their lunch, had counted them as they were led towards the activity field by David and the other counselor, whose name Daniel could not remember. Sure, he was relatively certain that nobody would be returning to the kitchen anytime soon, and yet…

It was best to exercise the utmost caution in everything he did.

So Daniel found himself groping around in the dark, trying to find a bag or sack to fill with stolen provisions. After several near-falls, and one frightful moment where he accidentally knocked a can off its shelf, he found one. It was rough and thick, sturdy, with a drawstring keeping it shut. It was perfect for his needs.

Gathering the stiff sack up in his arms, Daniel made his way back to the pantry door, kicking the soup can backwards into the darkness, returning to the kitchen. He ran the mental checklist again. Non-perishable food, water bottle, matches or lighter, can-opener, small pot, knife.

The kitchen was small, easy to navigate, with a stove, counter, and refrigerator on one wall, and a portable freezer against the other. On the far wall was a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit, stocked with cans of food, bags of flour, and — somewhat surprisingly — a cookie jar, all the way on the top shelf. Daniel walked towards the shelves, bare feet feeling each crack, each dip and rivet, each imperfection of the floor. The tiles were pleasantly cold underfoot.

He reached the shelves and examined the labels on the cans. Soup, mostly, with some beans and canned fruit thrown into the mix as well. Daniel carefully considered how much he needed, and how many cans could go missing without being noticed. If he took enough food for about a week, that should be sufficient, he decided.

Yes, food for a week would be good. He would limit himself to two meals a day — breakfast and dinner. He would return to the camp the day before he ran out. Of course, it would be best to travel between the two locations as little as possible. It took about three hours to walk from his cabin to the campgrounds. It would take another three to go back, maybe more. Besides the time and energy needed for the journey alone, there was the concern of detection. The more frequently he returned, the greater the chance of being caught.

Perhaps provisions for two weeks would be better.

A quick count of the cans on the shelves revealed about twenty in total. Too few. He should return to the pantry and take food from there. On the way back to the door, he would pass the counter, cupboard, and fridge, as well as the hanging cooking implements above the stove. Daniel would not need anything from the fridge or the stove. He would, however, need a pot from above the stove. There was a knife block on the counter next to the stove. He would need a knife. Further, he would need some sort of sheath for it. The cupboard above the counter should provide something adequate, and the drawer beneath would be the likeliest place to find a can-opener.

Daniel turned, too fast. His left nostril began to bleed profusely, streaming to the floor in bright red splashes. Cursing, Daniel dropped the sack and began searching desperately for paper towel. It was in the first place he looked, the cupboard above the counter. He ripped off several squares, dripping water on them from the sink, and dropped to the floor to wipe up the blood. One hand ran swift circles on the floor, paper towel mopping up the blood, while his other hand reached for another square, holding it to his nose.

The door of the mess hall opened. Daniel’s heart sped up, feeling tight in his chest as he snagged a knife and rushed back into the pantry with the empty rucksack. Again, he kept the door open a crack, this time peering out into the kitchen. He waited, blood rushing in his ears, breath carefully controlled. His forehead felt tight and a dizziness took hold of him, threatening to send him to his knees.

Time passed slowly. It crawled, dragging itself forward with weak, shaky limbs. Its body contorted itself, folding and expanding, breathing in and out laboriously. Daniel couldn’t properly track it, would count for several seconds, a minute, before falling back into a timeless place, where everything stood still and slow and frightening.

Eventually, Daniel felt the person leave the mess hall. He didn’t hear or see, but he was certain that no living signature other than his own was present in the building. Letting out a shaky breath — one that he had not even known he had been holding on to — he opened the pantry door all the way, letting the meager light from the kitchen in.

Shelves lined the walls, cans of all sizes placed haphazardly atop each other. There was no order, no sections, just food. Carefully, Daniel put the knife down and selected cans off the shelf, placing them in his bag. One… two… ten… twenty four. Beans and fruit and vegetables, soup and room-temperature chicken. The chicken wouldn’t last long, but it would keep for the journey back to the cabin. It would keep until Daniel had settled down for dinner. The chicken would be eaten first. Next, water. A package of liter-sized Poland Spring water bottles was at the back of the pantry. He grabbed one, knowing that he could refill it later with water from the stream.

Next to the Poland Spring water was a ladder, leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling. How curious. Daniel set the bag down next to the ladder, then climbed up. The attic had a low ceiling, was musty and overly warm. While the pantry and kitchen were air-conditioned, the attic had been left to warm and cool naturally with the outdoors. On the floor were papers, pencils, several empty snack bags. There was juice, a diary, and — most importantly — there was a flashlight.

Daniel flicked the switch, and the flashlight emitted a shaft of soft yellow light. It would certainly come in handy. He searched around for spare batteries, finding an open box half-hidden behind a line of juice cans. Carefully, he picked it up, not letting any batteries fall out. He climbed back down the ladder, deposited his findings in his bag, and retrieved the knife.

Returning to the kitchen, he shut the pantry door and walked back over to the counter. He put the knife down and opened the drawer, digging through spatulas and whisks and a whole slew of other utensils before finally finding the hand-operated can-opener. Lifting his gaze up, he opened the cupboard above the counter and grabbed an oven mitt to keep the knife in. Next to the mitt was a lighter, which he also grabbed.

Then, he turned his attention to the pots and pans hanging above the stove. He chose the smallest saucepan, found its lid, and placed them in the bag along with the food, knife, flashlight, water, lighter, and can-opener.

Spotting the paper towel roll still on the floor, Daniel decided to take it with him as well. He scooped it up, dropped it into his bag — now about as heavy as, say, a ten year old child — and left the mess hall.

The journey back to his cabin was uneventful. He traveled slower on the way back, encumbered by the stolen food, but made it before sunset. Daniel dropped the bag onto the floor and sat down heavily, exhausted both physically and emotionally. He took out his new knife and examined it more closely.

It was a basic chef’s knife, made of stainless steel and recently sharpened. Daniel felt its weight, opened his hand, palm up, and lifted his arm up and down, finding its balance. He spent a few minutes examining it from all sides, deciding it was satisfactory, and placed it back in the oven mitt.

Next, dinner. He’d grown so hungry that his stomach had shut off, his brain no longer processing signals of hunger. It was time to fix that. Daniel lifted the can of pre-cooked chicken out of the rucksack, reaching back inside for the can-opener. Several minutes later, he was scooping chicken out of the can and into his mouth, regretting that he hadn’t thought to grab a spoon or fork.

After eating, Daniel opened the water bottle and took a long, slow drink. He was hyper aware of it as it slid down his dry throat, through the tubes that led to his stomach, the inner linings of his body. It soaked into his cells, reinvigorating the sad, shriveled organs trapped within his ribs. In that moment, he thought that it must be the best thing he’d ever felt in his life. Of course, many things in the past had made him feel this way. It would pass, and he would think the notion quite ridiculous. For the time being, however, Daniel was satisfied.

For the first time in days, his stomach was full, and he was feeling sleepy from something besides blood loss and nausea. His hands didn’t shake with hunger, his temples didn’t throb with dehydration. Now, he could rest — truly rest. Resolving to steal a mattress next time, Daniel laid himself down on the hard floor and slept.

~~~

The next few days passed by very quickly. Daniel bathed in the river, carefully rationed his food stores. He cleared a space in what amounted to his front yard, creating a ring of rocks, piling twigs and sticks in the middle. When he ran out of water, he would make a trip to the lake to collect water in his pot, would bring it back to the cabin, would light a fire with the lighter. He would boil the water — after all, he had no way of knowing for certain if it was safe to drink — then let it cool. He filled up the water bottle. He drank.

And so, his basic needs had been met. Food, water, shelter, security.

Every morning, he began with a quiet meditation on a low, flat rock behind the cabin. Daniel closed his eyes and allowed his mind to leave his body, traveling miles away, all the while trying to decide just what to do to David. After, he ate breakfast, then napped outside in the sun. Lunch, then nap. Dinner, bed.

Daniel did a lot of resting. And, gradually, he began to recover. His body didn’t shake anymore, and he only got nosebleeds sometimes. He hadn’t thrown up blood since the first day after leaving the hospital. He could perform more physically challenging tasks, such as climbing trees and the sides of the cabin. His vision no longer wavered, his hand-eye coordination slowly returned. On the third day after his trip to the campgrounds, he successfully hit a bird with a rock, knocking it from its perch. Dinner was more than just sustaining his body that night. He was able to enjoy eating.

Still, he was dirty, unshaven, and weak. Full recovery would require more time, or better living conditions. He still had dizzy spells, and after nicking his finger while cutting up the bird, he decided he’d best not use the knife unless absolutely necessary.

David consumed his waking thoughts. His body fell into a familiar rhythm of survival, freeing his mind to dwell on more complex matters than that of simply staying alive. David. Oh, how he hated the man.

David, who had seemed decent enough, easy to manipulate. Naive. Trusting. David, who had ultimately been the one to stand in his way. David, who had prevented Daniel from completing his mission. David, with his cheery kindness, his endless patience. David, who — when trying to insult — always managed to find the best in people. David. David, David, David.

David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David, David.

David.

He had to go see David.

~~~

The second trip to the campsite was faster than the first. Daniel could maintain a faster pace, did not have to rely on a walking stick to keep moving forward. He started off at the break of dawn, made good time, arrived when the campers were gathered around the flagpole for their morning sing-along. There was Max, next to Nikki and Neil. The others, too, although Daniel hadn’t bothered to commit their names to memory. No, only the troublemakers had held his attention enough for that. Still, he hadn’t come for them. He had come for one person, and one person only.

Daniel’s attention zeroed in on David. He was wearing the camp t-shirt, the rolled-up pants, the ridiculously small vest; he looked the same as the last time Daniel had seen him. Daniel resented that. Here Daniel was, a dirty, miserable wreck, and there David was, happy and energetic as ever.

David was smiling widely, addressing the children, oblivious to their apathy and, in some cases, outright disgust. His red hair was swept back and forth by his exaggerated movements, as he smiled and sang, his bright green eyes lighting up as he gestured wildly, performing the stupidest actions with not a hint of embarrassment at all. Most of the children did not sing along, but David continued nonetheless. His long arms went up and down, his legs sometimes running in place, sometimes standing still, but always, his smile.

Daniel felt a lurch in his stomach and grimaced, watching David with narrowed eyes. His hands were shaped into fists, his breathing rough and uneven. Nobody had any right being the way David was. Nobody had any right affecting Daniel the way David seemed to do so effortlessly.

An idea crystallized in his mind, small and glittering, spinning ever so slightly on its axis as it began to accrete. Daniel slunk back into the woods, mind already piecing together a plan. He just needed more time, just needed to recover a bit more. Some special arrangements would have to be made, of course. They would be difficult. They would be difficult, but Daniel would succeed. He knew he would succeed, knew that he had to succeed.

Succeed, he thought. What a funny word. What does it mean to “succeed?”


	3. Exterioration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve decided that I’m only going to update on weekdays. That means I’ll update every day or, sometimes, every other day from Monday-Friday.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A thick mass of dark clouds had been gathering all day, blocking out the sun and the clear blue sky. Wind whistled in the trees, loud and sharp, bordering on painful. Daniel perched high in a tree, monitoring both the campers’ cabins and the mess hall.

Earlier that day, he had snagged a pair of binoculars from David’s cabin. Now, they dangled from a string around his neck. Daniel lifted them to his eyes and focused them on the mess hall door. The quartermaster was exiting, bulging sack thrown over one shoulder. Quickly, Daniel glanced down at the watch on his wrist — also stolen from David. The hands rested at 12:35 pm.

Daniel made a quick check mark in his pocket-sized notebook with a Bic ballpoint pen — both stolen from the mess hall attic. Everything was running on schedule. That is, the camp was operating the same way it did every day.

He was making it his business to know everybody else’s business. While his body did still need to recover, Daniel would not allow something so trivial to hinder his progress. There were aspects of his plan that he couldn’t enact yet, but there were steps he could take to advance towards his goal. He would focus only on the things he could control. He could not control the rate at which his body expelled the toxins, so he would not think about that. He could not control the occasional muscle spasms or spells of dizziness, so he would not think about that either.

Daniel would focus only on that which he could control.

He could control when and where he went. He could control the level of precision with which he made observations, how he organized the information. These were the things which Daniel would focus on.

The campers had been woken at 7:00 am, meeting up at the flag for the morning sing-along at 7:30. Breakfast had concluded at 8:30, after which David and Gwen — Daniel now remembered that the other counselor’s name was Gwen — lead the children to the activities field. Now, it was lunch time. The counselors and campers were inside the mess hall, although Daniel had spotted Max sneaking back to his cabin. He had not returned to the group yet.

It had been four days. Four days since Daniel had started keeping rigorous notes on the camp, four days since he’d begun writing case files for each person. Four days of watching David.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, pushed it out of his face. Limp and oily, the dirty strands stayed in the shape he pushed them into. It felt disgusting, but he was getting used to feeling disgusting. Despite being able to bathe in the river, Daniel did so as little as possible, since he wasn’t at all confident of its cleanliness. Suffering his own body oils was far preferable to getting worms or some sort of chemical poisoning from the river.

Shaking his head, Daniel returned his attention to the mess hall. And there was David. There was David’s soft red hair, his long gangly limbs, his ever-present smile. The light smattering of freckles over his face, like the stars in the night sky. David was exiting the mess hall, children in tow. Daniel watched as he turned to Gwen, laughing, eyes closing as his shoulders shook up and down. The corners of Gwen’s mouth twitched upward, as though out of her control.

Daniel could not look away.

Then, the camper with the ridiculous tiny top hat tugged on David’s arm, drawing his attention, saying something and pointing accusingly at the camper with the equally ridiculous conical hat. David frowned slightly, hanging back as the rest of the group continued on to the activity field. He took the two aside, the two with the ridiculous hats, the two that were having some sort of disagreement. He took them aside, and he talked. He talked, and they listened, arms crossed, hands on hips. Daniel was struck with the desire to hear David’s voice, to know what David was saying.

Whatever it was, it seemed to work, as the two campers reluctantly nodded their heads, shook hands, and were brought to join the rest of the camp by a smiling David.

The sky let out another loud rumble, this time closer. Daniel frowned. It would not be wise to be caught in a storm. It would not be wise to stay at the camp when the rain started. Daniel would need shelter. He would not have any shelter at the camp — not any that would keep him from both the rain and from prying eyes. He would have to return to his cabin. He would, of course, return later to continue monitoring the camp, but for now, he would have to leave.

Daniel carefully climbed down, hands and feet, arms and legs getting scraped by bark, stung by pine needles. He paid this no mind; his only concern was not falling. Several times, he felt the branch supporting him creak, heard a crack, was desperately afraid. Each time, he hurried to a different branch, took deep shaky breaths, was unharmed.

It felt an eternity until he lowered himself to the ground, feet touching down on soft, cool grass atop soft, cool soil. He allowed himself only a moment to steady himself, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Then, he set off, back towards his cabin.

He had barely reached the river when the skies opened up, and it began to pour.

~~~

Daniel lurched into the cabin, soaked through and tired. All his muscles had stiffened up in the unexpected cold of the rain, and he again wished for a mattress as he sunk to the floor, lying uncomfortably, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. His annoyed huff sounded small in his ears. And, in the face of the elements, he was small. So very, very small.

Above him, the rain pounded incessantly on the roof. The leaky ceiling allowed drops of water in, allowed rain to drip down into puddles on the floor, while the hole in the side of the cabin, patched up crudely by Daniel some days before, let in more than just drops. The caved-in part of the ceiling — the area not directly above Daniel — permitted what seemed like a whole waterfall, streams of water cascading down, splashing the puddles created by the drops and turning the floor into a shallow pool.

Daniel was miserable, and cold, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Sleep would not come. No matter how Daniel turned and stretched, rolled this way and that, he simply could not find sleep. He lay on the ground, soaking wet, rain pounding on the ceiling above him, water pouring in, shivers running through his body. It was absolutely miserable.

Groaning, Daniel pushed himself up and rose to his feet. He splashed over to the fallen crossbeam — the one from the caved-in side of the roof — and climbed up. It was slippery, and a couple times, he almost fell. Somehow, Daniel managed to not fall, managed to climb all the way to the rest of the crossbeams. He hugged the wall, slipped over to the crossbeam with his sack of supplies. It was drier up here than it was down on the ground, which was why Daniel kept his food, water, supplies — everything he currently owned — on the crossbeam.

He laid down on the beam, stretching himself out and feeling the damp wood underneath his back. Up here, away from the brunt of the cold and rain, the sound of water pounding on the roof was less painful than peaceful, the slight chill in the air making him feel comfortable in his shelter, glad that he had protection from the elements.

Air rushed in through his nose, out through his mouth. In… out. In… out. Long slow breaths, calming. Daniel’s body gradually stopped shivering, all his muscles releasing the stored-up tension from the day. For a time, he could feel only the slow beat of his heart, could hear only his own breath and the rain all around his cabin. He let his eyes slip shut.

It had been a while since he had made proper use of his Operating Thetan abilities. He would begin to ease himself back into it now.

Daniel opened the eye that was his mind. He let himself rise from his body, looking down at his still form. Through the roof, and he was out in the rain. Each droplet passed through him, falling toward the ground with an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second squared. He dipped down, towards the ground, and moved forward, gliding just above the forest floor. Trees and bushes blurred past him, and he closed his eyes, feeling the life humming through him and around him, above and below.

He reached the river, diving down into the stream, joining the rush of water, breaking around rocks, gathering up leaves and twigs. Laughing, he pulled up, turning and heading back upstream. He dove back into woods, twisted and curled around trees, rustled them slightly as he passed. Daniel was not strong enough to interact with the physical world in a meaningful way, not yet. He would work his way back up to that. In time.

Returning to the cabin, Daniel gently dropped back down into his body, feeling a slight lurch as his thetan and physical vessel were reunited. The air smelled of soft wood, of dirt, of cold summer showers. Feeling relaxed now, his body finally having found a comfortable position, Daniel drifted off to sleep.

_Daniel was in a room. There was a sign on the wall, over by the door. Daniel couldn’t quite make out what it said, lines wiggling away just as he was about to make out their shapes. The bed was made up properly, all hospital corners and tucked-in sheets. There was a log resting at the end of the bed. Where was he?_

_Walking forward, Daniel examined the cork board hanging on the wall. Photos of the Camp Campbell campers stared out at him, some smiling, some frowning. There were the campers currently attending camp; there was David and Gwen; there was the unpleasant platypus. Daniel’s gaze roamed, came to rest on a young David quite literally sitting in the palm of Mr. Campbell’s hand._

_Unpinning the photo from the board, Daniel blinked slowly. He’d never thought about David being a child. He’d never really considered that David would have had to have been a child, at some point. Seeing a young David sent a shiver down Daniel’s spine. He wasn’t quite sure why._

_Then the door to the cabin swung open, and harsh white light came streaming in. Daniel lifted a hand to shield his eyes, realizing for the first time that the cabin lacked windows. There was only the door._

_A silhouette appeared, outlined not by the light behind it, but by a thin shadow, revealing a humanoid form. Daniel squinted, straining hard to make out any facial features. On instinct, he reached for his knife, but found that he didn’t have it on him. His hands shook, his whole body trembled, the silhouette in the door made to enter the room._

_Daniel lurched forward. He tried to run to the door, to slam it shut. Something told him he didn’t want to let the person in. Whoever it was, Daniel did not want them to enter the room. But his feet would not move. Panicked, Daniel looked down. His feet were embedded into the floor, long, thick roots connecting to the wooden floorboards, digging into the ground beneath it._

_Daniel screamed, but did not make a sound. He thought that he might pass out, but was granted no such mercy._

_The figure in the doorway was stepping inside. As the person left the doorway, Daniel saw that the figure was made entirely of light. An ibis followed behind, matching its steps to those of the being of light. The blinding, unknowable creature stopped two feet from Daniel, seeming to watch him with curiosity. No, not curiosity. Pity. It pitied him._

_Daniel’s lip curled, eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me?” he demanded, mouth dry, sweat beading at his brow. The figure said nothing. It simply reached out its hand to the ibis, which strutted forward and began digging around Daniel’s roots._

_Daniel screamed again, pain shooting through his legs as the ibis pecked at his roots. It pecked and pecked, unmoved by his cries, by the tears stinging his cheeks. When the tears dropped to the floor, Daniel saw that they were red with blood. His hands flew to his face, touching the lines of tears, coming away red as well. His tears were shards of glass, slicing his face, cutting his fingers._

_Everything hurt, and the being of light did nothing but watch, emitting no heat and making no sound._

_The ibis had pecked its way through his roots, and Daniel fell to his knees. Blood was flowing freely from his calves, pooling around his feet and soaking into the floorboards. The bright silhouette reached out a hand, and Daniel recoiled in fear. He backed up, pushing himself with his arms and legs as fast as physically possible._

_A quiet fluttering, a moment of confusion, and then Daniel was surrounded by hundreds of flapping wings and sharp little beaks. He was lifted up, up, out of the room, out into the sky, up and up into the clouds by a flock of panicked nightingales. Higher and higher they brought him, the cabin shrinking until it was nothing but a tiny speck in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by lush greenery._

_Then he was in the middle of a cloud, water soaking him, nightingales falling as their feathers became too waterlogged to continue flying. One by one, they dropped away, the flock shrinking steadily the higher and higher they went. Suddenly, the clouds around them darkened, and lightning began to shoot out of them, arcing through birds, jumping from feather to leg to beak, until there was nothing left to hold Daniel up._

_And so, Daniel fell._

Gasping, Daniel sat up quickly, hitting his head on the ceiling of the cabin. The rain had stopped, and the last of the afternoon sun was shining meekly through the holes in the cabin. Drops of water still dripped slowly, and the floor of the cabin still had a thin layer of water over it. It must have just stopped raining.

Daniel held a hand to his throbbing forehead, trying to hold onto the last impressions of the dream as they slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve. After a minute, Daniel had completely forgotten that he’d even remembered the dream at all.

~~~

David was standing with his hands on his knees, lowering himself down closer to Max as he patiently explained why there are just some things that aren’t allowed at camp, Max. Daniel watched from a nearby bush, close enough to hear every word of the exchange.

“Now, Max, what have we said about playing with matches?” David’s voice was calm, had that certain quality that only he possessed.

“I haven’t said anything about playing with matches,” Max shot back, mouth a stubborn line, eyes defiant.

“Okay, what have Gwen and I said about playing with matches?”

Max rolled his eyes, but answered. “Not to do it.”

“That’s right, Max! Playing with matches is very dangerous, and I wouldn’t want you or anybody else to get hurt! So, I’m sorry Max, but I have to confiscate that matchbox.” David held out a hand to Max, gesturing for him to give up the forbidden possessions.

Grumbling, Max took the matchbox out of his pocket and deposited them in David’s waiting hand. His eyes were bored, ready to conclude the interaction with the perpetually cheerful man.

“Thank you, Max. Now you see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Fuck you.”

Daniel watched as Max stuck up his middle finger and backed away from David, heading towards Nikki and Neil. David stood up straight, tucking the matches away in his pocket. Despite Max’s behavior, David was smiling — a genuine smile, not like the fake ones Daniel always had on. Daniel wondered at David’s ability to be so, so…

A frisbee stuck itself in the branches of the bush Daniel was hiding in, just in front and slightly above his head. Daniel scurried backwards, moving through a series of bushes until he was facing the bush he had just been hiding in. A camper with red hair and beefy arms ran over, snatching the frisbee and running off again.

Meanwhile, David had moved towards Gwen, showing her the matches and talking excitedly. Daniel crawled through several more bushes before he was close enough to heard David once again.

“Yeah, that’s great David. You do know Max probably has a whole bunch more, right?” Gwen said dryly, thoroughly unimpressed by the one success in a long string of failures. Failures to reign Max in. Failures to keep Max under control.

Gwen’s cynical tone seemed not to really affect David, as the man gave only a slight frown and said, “Well, I’m sure he’ll do the right thing.”

“Keep dreaming, David.” And then a commotion started up on the other side of the activity field; Gwen hurried over, mouth set in a frown, eyes openly displaying her displeasure. Daniel wondered how she’d decided to be a camp counselor, considering that she seemed to hate children so much.

Throughout the day, Daniel watched David closely, took careful note of his interactions with each camper, how much he seemed to know of each child. All of this went into Daniel’s little notebook, all of this brought Daniel that much closer to his revenge.

David spent the most time with Max. Not out of favoritism — David wasn’t the type to engage in such a practice — but simply because Max required the most redirection. As such, he seemed the most in tune with Max, seemed to know the most about him, knew him like a parent should know their own child. David knew the other campers fairly well, too, but not like he knew Max. Daniel could see that right away.

Then, there were Nikki and Neil. They hung around Max, which in turn meant they also spent a significant amount of time around David. Their attitudes toward David — while fairly poor — were far better than Max’s utter disdain.

The other children, Daniel came to remember, were named: Ered, Nurf, Nerris, Harrison, Dolph, Preston, and Space Kid. He had only needed to store this information for a short time, at least, would have if everything had gone as planned. It hadn’t, of course, but that’s what he’d thought at the time.

He reviewed the information David had given to him, back when he’d interviewed to be a counselor. Max, stubborn and only sometimes violent; Neil, always questioning things, married to his precious science; Nikki, rambunctious, with a love of nature. These three were the ones that had caused Daniel the most trouble, so naturally, it was they who he remembered best. Well, them and Space Kid. After all, Daniel, too, had an interest in the cosmos.

Still, Daniel was able to dredge up information about the rest of the campers, lifting them out of his memories as with a large fishing net. There was Ered, a confident risk-taker; Nurf, a troubled child with a full understanding of his shortcomings; Nerris, an enthusiastic player of Dungeons and Dragons, whatever that was; Harrison, a magician; Preston, a melodramatic aspiring actor; and lastly, there was Dolph, uncomfortably reminiscent of Hitler.

Daniel carefully watched each of David’s interactions, watched his mannerisms, his form of conflict resolution. He watched, and he took notes, and watched some more. The campers participated in team-building activities. Daniel watched. David was slapped and kicked by several of the more rebellious children. Daniel watched. There was a campfire, and s’mores were made. And still, Daniel watched.

The campers were sent to bed, the cabin lights were shut off. David and Gwen returned to their cabin. They turned on the television, put on a Bob Ross DVD, settled down to watch.

And while they watched Bob Ross, Daniel watched them.


	4. Wog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, each chapter is getting longer and longer whoop.
> 
> Remember to hit me up on instagram!

Daniel didn’t feel the sickness coming on, didn’t feel it creeping up on him. His brain never gave him any signs, any strange weakness in his legs or wads of wool between his ears. Instead, he felt it suddenly, all at once, in perhaps the most inconvenient place possible.

It was the day after the rain. Daniel had returned to the camp in the afternoon, notepad in hand and binoculars around his neck. Everything had seemed alright, had seemed normal. His walk to camp had been brisk and sure. The river, swollen from the rain, had rushed beside him, away, behind. Daniel’s light blue hospital gown was dry, his hair feeling cleaner than it had in days. Everything had seemed fine, just fine.

He was fine, and then he was not. His lungs constricted, tightened, his throat trying to close as Daniel coughed. He coughed and coughed, hacking and retching, thick strings of mucus making their way into his mouth and out, flying away in drops and clumps. Daniel doubled over, then fell, feeling the familiar sensation of sharp pain as his bare skin met sharp rocks. His chest felt heavy. Something was sitting on his chest. Something was sitting on him, except when he looked, there was nothing there.

Muscles spasmed as Daniel shakily got to his hands and knees, whole body coughing as his lungs violently expelled air. His body went hot, then cold, his nose began to bleed. The world spun around him, the sky blurring into the ground. Daniel could not tell up from down. He did not know where he was. Where was he going again? What was he doing?

His thoughts moved sluggishly, distracted by the mucus in his throat, the pain in his muscles, the blood dripping from both nostrils. He was so, so tired, and the ground was so very soft. He thought he might lie there and take a quick nap, but then he heard David’s voice, getting closer, and remembered where he was.

David must have heard his coughing, and was coming to investigate.

Panicked, Daniel forced himself to rise, ignoring the all-encompassing exhaustion digging deep into every cavern of his being, every organ, every bone and joint. He could not be found. He wasn’t quite sure why at the moment — couldn’t quite remember what the threat was — but he knew that he should not be found. So he ran.

He ran, binoculars bouncing painfully against his collarbones, feet falling heavily on the forest floor. Light filtered through the leaves, casting everything in a cool green glow. In, out, in out, in, out. Daniel breathed, sharp and quick, the fear of discovery driving him on just as surely as a whip does a team of oxen. Soft dirt, hard rocks, sharp thorns, thick brush. On and on he ran, refusing to acknowledge the pain in his legs or the tearing of his already-torn up hospital gown. His hair caught in low-hanging branches and he kept on, strands ripping from his scalp as the branches held on greedily.

Then, the river. He broke through the treeline and made his way down its rocky sides. Loose stones clattered down, splashing into the water. He slipped and slid until he stood at the very edge of the river. Not bothering to look back, Daniel dove in, knowing the current would carry him faster than his legs.

The river ran swifter than he had anticipated, and it was harder to keep his head above water than was preferable. Still, he had no choice — rather, he had made his choice and had to make do. While the river usually ran at a brisk trot, it was now thundering along as on a racetrack, hurtling towards the finish line with reckless abandon. And Daniel was trapped beneath its many legs, stomping and pounding all around, battering against his head, his arms, his legs, his chest.

Everything hurt, and he could see nothing.

By some stroke of luck, the river spat him out on a bank not too far from the route back to his run-down cabin. He coughed and sputtered, shivering despite the heat of day. His nose was still bleeding, and some new cuts and scrapes had decided to join in as well. Daniel caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle on a low, flat rock and turned away, disgusted. He did not want to see himself like this. He did not want anyone to see him like this.

Breath now coming in ragged gasps, Daniel ran — or rather, stumbled — through the woods, leaning against trees and tall bushes to steady himself. He had the childish notion that if he only reached the cabin, if he only made it there as quickly as possible, he would be safe. He would be safe, and nothing could hurt him. David would not find him, would not have to see him in this state. David would not find out that Daniel had escaped the hospital to exact revenge, would not find out that he had tried to kill the campers. Daniel would be safe, and the police would not be called.

There, just beyond the lightning-struck tree; the cabin stood, old and rotting, vine-covered and so, so safe. Daniel broke into a half-stumble, half-run, feet rocking heel to toes, heel to toes, heel to toes as he pushed himself ever forward. His whole body bounced up and down as he ran, up and down, up and down like a sine wave — like a jumping, jittering heart monitor.

He burst through the doorway, shutting it harshly behind himself as he stood, panting for breath. A fresh wave of coughs tore through him, his whole body wracked with involuntary spasms. Daniel’s legs gave way beneath him, and he sunk to the floor, back against the door, breath coming in shallow pants. His heart thundered in his chest, trying desperately to make up for a lack of oxygen.

Daniel felt himself floating in and out of consciousness, felt his body go hot then cold, sweating and shaking and coughing and bleeding. Several times, he had to remind himself to breathe. He had to remind himself that breathing was important. Why was he not breathing? — he ought to be breathing.

In, out. In, out. In, out. Short, shallow breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. He hoped David didn’t find him. In, out. In, out. In, out. If David found him, the police would be called. In, out. In, out. In, out. There was nothing he could do besides wait. In, out. In, out. In, out. He had done everything within his power to prevent his discovery. In, out. In, out. In, out.

In out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out.

His breath caught in his throat as he coughed again. And again, coughing and coughing, the sharp tang of iron mixing with the thick mucus in his throat. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut and braced his body against the shaking.

“Hello?”

Daniel’s blood ran cold.

“Hello, is anyone there?” David’s voice. That was unmistakably David’s voice. How had he found Daniel? How had he gotten so close? How had the river not covered Daniel’s tracks?

Daniel began to hyperventilate, hands clenching and unclenching, wishing for his knife but knowing it was too far away, up on the crossbeam above him. Why hadn’t he thought to bring it with him?

Too late, now, though, as the sound of boots were already drawing closer to the cabin.

“Hello? Do you need help?”

Daniel scrambled backwards, away from the door, moving back into the shadows. He wedged himself underneath part of the caved-in roof, trying to make himself as small as possible. Even if David glanced inside quickly, Daniel was certain he would not spot him. Now, if David decided to enter the cabin and poke around, well. That would be another matter altogether.

David entered the cabin.

“Hello?” he called again. “I’m just here to help!” David began moving around the perimeter of the cabin, peering into the dark shadows where the walls met the floor, up to the ceiling. Daniel curled in on himself a little more, trying to move David with his mind. Trying — and failing — to implant thoughts of returning to camp directly into the counselor’s mind.

Then David glanced up at a certain crossbeam, and it was all over. With a sinking heart, Daniel knew that David knew somebody was here. David would not leave. David would search harder. Daniel closed his eyes, a million thoughts crowding his mind. The loudest one, the most solid one, was sharp and reflective, showing Daniel his own reflection iterated over and over again, a multitude in its cold, hard sides. This was it; he was through. Closing his eyes, Daniel let out a shaky breath.

“Daniel?! Is that you?” David’s voice was soft, disbelieving. “Daniel, what happened?”

Daniel did not respond. He wanted David to go away. David wouldn’t, but Daniel still wished he would. He could not change anything by not responding, but he could pretend that he could. If he ignored David, maybe the man would go away. Maybe—

“Oh my gosh, Daniel! What happened to you? Are you okay?” David was lifting Daniel up, gently, as though Daniel was a delicate china doll that would break at even the lightest of touches. As he led Daniel into the light, David let out a small gasp. “Daniel, you’re hurt! We have to get you to camp right away!”

There it was. That sincerity. The sort of sincerity that Daniel didn’t quite know what to do with. Surely nobody could be that kind, be that giving, be that genuinely empathetic. Yet, there David was, eyes round and soft and concerned — real concern, as though their last encounter hadn’t ended on a sour note.

He did not know what to do with David’s kindness, but he did know what to do about being brought back to the camp. The children would recognize him, would tell David the truth. David would not want to help Daniel anymore. David would not want to allow Daniel to stay anymore. He would call the police, and Daniel would be taken away, back to a hospital, to a prison cell, to trial.

Daniel tried to pull away from David then, found himself too weak to stand on his own, went crashing down to the ground. David hurried to scoop him up, holding him gently but firmly so Daniel would not fall again. Daniel coughed, this time blood instead of mucus drooling out of the corner of his mouth.

“That’s it, we’re going back right now.” David wore the same stern expression he used often on the campers, when he wanted them to listen, but also wanted them to know that they weren’t in trouble. Daniel choked back another round of coughs.

“No… no camp.” His voice was raspy from disuse, scratchy from coughing, was small and pathetic and weak with sickness. He wasn’t sure if David had heard him, as he was still leading Daniel back outside of the cabin.

“No… camp,” he said, a little louder, a little more insistent. Still, David made no indication that he had heard.

Mind clouding over, fear beginning to work its way into every part of Daniel’s being, he did the only thing he could think of; he lashed out, punching David in the side of the face. It wasn’t very strong, and likely didn’t hurt, but it surprised David, and that was enough to get him to loosen his grip. Daniel slipped from David’s grasp, turned and scurried back into the cabin on all fours like some sort of beast. He knew how it must look, he knew he must seem insane. He knew that right now, his safety was more important than his dignity.

“Wha—” David wore a shocked and hurt expression, did not understand why Daniel had done that. He looked back, saw Daniel closing the door of the cabin once more. “Daniel, wait! I’m sorry! Did I say something wrong?”

Curse him. Curse him to hell. Curse him and his soft, gentle voice. Curse him a million times over, and then curse him some more.

There was a part of Daniel that didn’t like the sound of David’s voice — more specifically, didn’t like the pained and hurt sound currently coloring his voice. David was trying to help. Here Daniel was, plotting to kill David, and David was trying to save Daniel from his own stupidity. And truly, Daniel had been stupid, to think that he wouldn’t get sick from being soaked through the day before. Stupid to think that he could walk to camp and back again before the chill and the wet caught up to him. Damn him. Damn, damn, damn.

Daniel retched, vision going spotty. What was he going to do?

A soft knocking came from the door. “Daniel, please. I just want to help!”

Berating himself, telling himself that he would regret it, that it was the wrong choice, that he was being stupid, Daniel cracked open the cabin door. David was standing there, face concerned and sad and confused. As far as David was concerned, they were friends, somehow. They were friends, and Daniel was not letting David help him. Daniel was not letting David be his friend.

“No… camp,” Daniel said again, wanting to make it absolutely clear to David that he was not by any means going back with him. He narrowed his eyes, hoping he looked intimidating and not just pathetic.

“Alright, no camp,” David sighed, brows still slightly furrowed. “But you need first aid. And,” here, he looked Daniel up and down, “clothes.”

Daniel blushed despite himself. He knew he looked quite feral, a stark contrast to his usual collared shirt and ironed pants, well-kept hair and shaven face.

David hesitated for a moment, as though some part of him still wanted to pick Daniel up and carry him back to camp. His soft green eyes were filled with pity, which Daniel loved and hated in equal measure. It made no sense at all, for why should he feel anything but disgust towards the pity of another? Perhaps, he thought, he simply craved human interaction. After all, communication with others was the most important thing in a human’s life. It had been a little over a week since his last proper conversation with a real human being, face-to-face. Yes, that made sense.

Daniel distantly heard David speak again, something about bandages and blankets. Blankets would be nice. Daniel had wanted blankets for a while, but had not had the opportunity to take any. He needed blankets, especially now, as his body kept cycling through overheating and shivering uncontrollably. His throat was sore from coughing. He knew he’d been struck down with fever, was prepared at this point to accept anything David would give him, except a trip back to camp. He would worry about getting revenge on David later.

~~~

By the time David returned to the cabin, Daniel was curled up by the door, too tired to move but too uncomfortable to sleep. He was floating in the strange place between wakefulness and sleep, where everything felt just a little bit off, just a little too far away. His lungs still periodically felt the need to contract violently, though not nearly as strongly as before.

David slowly pushed the cabin door open, stepping lightly as though worried that he would wake Daniel. Or, perhaps, he was worried about being inexplicably attacked by Daniel again.

Through half-lidded eyes, Daniel saw in David’s arms a first aid kit, on his back a hiking pack, and strapped to the top of it a sleeping bag. David walked over to Daniel and crouched down, taking out a washcloth and a thermos filled with warm water. Gently, David dabbed the cloth over Daniel’s face, neck, arms, and legs. Daniel groaned, wanting to do it himself, but finding no strength to reach his hand out for the washcloth.

Another thermos was taken out of the backpack, David propping Daniel up against the wall. “Here, drink this.”

Daniel felt steam rising to his face, smelled hot broth and herbs. Chicken noodle soup was spooned into his mouth, David pausing to let him swallow, wiping the corners of Daniel’s mouth with the warm washcloth and dabbing at his nose with soft tissues. Daniel ate, despite his lack of appetite. He knew he needed nourishment, and quite frankly, the soup was the best tasting thing he'd eaten since before the hospital. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daniel wondered if David had made the soup himself.

Once he finished eating, Daniel tried to stand, to climb back up into the crossbeams to lie down. David frowned, caught Daniel as the blond man toppled over. David quietly shushed Daniel’s attempts to get back up, his insistence that he was going to bed up in the rafters. Instead, Daniel found himself tucked in a soft, warm blanket, wrapped up like a burrito.

Daniel didn’t remember much after that. Only impressions, and feelings, mostly misery from his endless coughing and congestion. When he regained full consciousness, it was mid-morning, and David was gone. In his place was the sleeping roll, first aid kit, and backpack.

Feeling somewhat better, Daniel managed to rise to his knees, shuffling awkwardly over to the hiking bag. Pinned to the outside of the backpack was a handwritten letter, reading “Be back soon, feel better, <3 David.” Inside the bag were clothes -— unmistakably David’s — a pillow, a towel, some snacks, and flu medicine.

The flu. That would explain it.

Now that Daniel had more of his wits about him, he decided to bring his sack of supplies down from the crossbeam. He stood, vision briefly flashing white before settling back down. Daniel carefully made his way over to the fallen beam, climbed up it with a practiced confidence. As he reached the top, the door opened, and David entered the cabin.

“Daniel! What are you doing? You could get hurt!” David cried, dropping the bag in his hands and rushing over to position himself beneath Daniel. Apprehension was plastered all over his face as he stretched out his arms in preparation to catch Daniel, should he fall.

After a brief moment of surprise, Daniel refocused his attention on keeping his balance, on not falling. Motes of dust floated around him, illuminated in the shaft of sunlight coming in through the roof. Daniel reached the bag, felt its rough dampness against his skin, smelled the promise of mildew clinging to its fibers. He turned back around and began down towards the cabin floor.

If he had not been weakened by flu, made clumsy by exhaustion, the climb down would not have been a problem. As it was, Daniel slippe, dropping the sack as he threw his hands out to catch himself. However, instead of his body making a painful impact on the hard ground, he found himself caught by the soft and warm — but surprisingly strong — arms of David.

Heart fluttering in his rib cage, Daniel, flustered, tried to stand up on his own, to apologize for falling into David. David simply smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Daniel couldn’t help but stare, mouth agape, completely bewildered. How much kindness did David have to give? This went beyond anything Daniel could ever have imagined, was more than he ever believed a single person could contain. How did David do it? How?

It was infuriating, it was absurd, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved. David seemed to Daniel in that moment to be a puzzle that needed to be solved.

“How did you find me?” were the words Daniel found spilling from his lips. It came out perhaps a tad more aggressively, slightly more accusatory, than he had intended. David’s face fell, his mouth turning down into the slightest of frowns before rebounding, a broad grin taking over his features.

“Well, I was walking towards the campers’ cabins when I heard you coughing. I wasn’t really sure what it was. I mean, now I know it was you, but. Heh, I thought you were a bear cub or something. Isn’t that silly!” David paused here, chuckling slightly, eyes lighting up.

“Then I saw the… er, well uh… the blood trail and the pieces of—” here, he gestured to Daniel’s hospital gown, “and I just kept following you until I found you here.” David trailed off awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

Daniel had just noticed that his arms and legs were bandaged up, and a large band-aid was stuck to his forehead. Without thinking, he began lightly picking at the bandages. David frowned and gently took Daniel’s hands in his own, guiding them away.

“Yeah, I bandaged you up last night. I hope you don’t mind.” With David’s soft hands over his own, bright green eyes open and vulnerable, freckles seeming to dance across his face in the half-light of the cabin — Daniel couldn’t find it in himself to mind at all. At the same time, Daniel couldn’t find it in himself to express his gratitude to David, found himself simply staring into David’s gaze awkwardly, blinking slowly and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh, yeah. It’s probably time to change your bandages, huh?” David asked, more of a rhetorical question than anything. He reached down and picked up the bag he’d brought with him. “I was gonna change your bandages, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to, you know, take a bath first?” Now, David seemed almost sheepish, holding the bag out to Daniel in a way that suggested an expectance for rejection. David was unsure whether or not Daniel would continue to accept his help, now that he was fully conscious; Daniel understood this, and yet, he found it hard to grasp.

Daniel blamed it on the flu. The flu had reduced his mental processing power.

Gingerly, Daniel took the bag from David, opened it with shaking hands. There were two main pockets; inside the first was shampoo, soap, a loofah, and body lotion. The second contained shaving cream, two disposable razors, and face lotion. Daniel found himself glancing up at David, as though to ask if this were really happening, to ask if he was really being gifted these things. David simply offered him a warm, encouraging smile in return.

So, grabbing the clothes and towel from the hiking pack, Daniel made his way outside, stumbling towards the river. David followed just behind, steadying Daniel whenever it looked like Daniel’s legs were ready to buckle beneath his weight.

The river had gone down since the previous day — now, it flowed at its normal speed, did not look as though it would tear Daniel away from the bank, carrying him before spitting him out in unfamiliar woods, or sending him over a waterfall. Daniel turned to David, remembering suddenly why he hadn’t come to the river to bathe more often.

“Is the water safe?” he asked.

David smiled. “Of course!” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Sometimes, if Gwen’s using the shower in the counselor’s cabin, I take baths in this river.” Then, straightening up, “Further upstream, of course, but the same river!”

Satisfied with his response, Daniel laid out the clothes and towel just above the rocks of the river’s bank. He took the toiletry kit with him to the river’s edge, dipping a toe in to test the temperature. The water was cool, not yet fully warmed by the sun. Still, it wasn’t unbearable, and Daniel let the rest of his foot slide beneath the surface. He began pulling off what remained of his hospital gown, then remembered David’s presence.

“Um…” Daniel turned to look at David, trying to figure out how to ask him to leave without making things uncomfortable. Fortunately, David seemed to understand; blushing, he turned around, covering his eyes with his hand.

Daniel turned back to the river, peeling off blue rags, letting them fall to the rocks at his feet. Carefully, he unwrapped his bandages and waded into the water, feeling the cool water rushing around him. He reached back for the shampoo, lathered up his hands and began scrubbing his hair. It took three washes before Daniel’s hair and scalp felt clean, before he put the bottle of shampoo back on the bank and picked up the bar of soap. Like his hair, his body took three scrubs before all the dirt and grime had been removed.

Finally, he was clean. After over a week of running around the woods — practically naked — bathing felt heavenly. He spent perhaps longer than he should have in the river, especially considering that he was still ill, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The water was cool against his skin, clean and clear, and Daniel stood there, feeling the current tug at him, stood there even after he’d finished bathing.

“Daniel? Are you okay?” David called down to the river.

Jerking back into the present, Daniel realized that his fingers were pruny, felt that his jaw was tense and throat still sore. Reluctantly, he splashed up onto the bank, shooting a quick “yes” back to David. Daniel wrapped himself up in the towel, its soft fibers drawing the droplets of water off of his body. It was warm on the rocks, the sun shining down on him. Soon, he was dry; he applied lotion to himself, slipped into David’s spare clothes. They were comfortable, and fit well; they smelled of David.

Daniel picked his way back down to the water’s edge, shaving cream and razor in hand. The first run of razor over face removed only some outer layers of hair, had to be rinsed off in the river, run again over the growing beard. Over and over, groups of hair were peeled from his face, set adrift in the river. When he was done, he turned and walked back up to where David was, legs shaking slightly, cough returning.

“Wait,” David said, gently pushing down on Daniel’s shoulders. David sat down, bringing Daniel with him, pulled out his first aid kit. Daniel watched, eyes slightly glazed, brain taking a moment to catch up with what was happening.

David took out gauze and bandages, some sort of gel. He began wrapping Daniel’s cuts and scrapes back up, tongue poking out from between his teeth in concentration. David worked quickly, surely, hands moving with the confidence of someone well-acquainted with treating injuries. Daniel vaguely wondered how David would have learned to treat injuries. He wondered what caused David to have to learn.

“Thanks.” It just slipped out. Daniel hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to thank David. And yet, he did. “Thanks,” he said. David smiled.

Then, David was turning Daniel around, was taking out scissors, was cutting Daniel’s hair. Daniel could feel the slight pull on his scalp, heard the snip snip snip of scissors near his ears. He felt the breeze tickle the back of his neck, felt his head grow lighter as his hair blew away. It was relaxing, listening to the low hum of insects, feeling the grass with the palms of his hands, the sun shining down on him and David. His eyes slipped shut, and he must have nodded off, because David was shaking him awake.

Daniel’s eyelids fluttered open, soft green eyes staring back into his own sharp blue ones. He tore his gaze away, feeling something twist in his gut. Something that had nothing to do with the flu, nothing to do with any physical ailments.

“Thanks,” he said again, casually, as though it were the most unimportant word in the world. It was not unimportant, but Daniel tried very hard to make sure it sounded like it was.

For the first time in a long time, Daniel felt respectable. He was bathed and groomed, his hair cut back to a proper length. He was dressed in proper clothes, was no longer in nothing but what amounted to a few rags. He was deeply grateful. He was grateful, but did not know how to express it to David, did not know how to express it to himself, even.

He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to acknowledge it at all.


	5. ARC-A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so much for the "update every day :))"
> 
> I'll be working on this thing sporadically I guess. I'm really attached to it and I've already put in a lot of effort and research, so if anyone thinks they recognize Scientology stuff, hmu. I really wanna talk about Scientology with somebody, so,,,

For the next week, Daniel recovered from the flu. Although well enough after a couple days to walk on his own, and to take care of himself — mostly — David continued to return to the cabin, bringing food and water and clean blankets and clothes. Daniel bathed, daily, now that he knew the water was clean. Every morning, Daniel tended to his appearance — could do so, now that he had the proper tools. Every morning, Daniel got up, went down to the river, bathed, shaved, and brushed his teeth.

Though still sick, it was important that he re-establish routine. It was important that he brought structure back to his life, disrupted as it had been by certain… unsavory events. So, Daniel got himself up in the mornings, maintained his personal hygiene, ate breakfast, found ways to occupy his time. Naturally, he spent most of this time resting, but occasionally he would go for walks, his restless legs seeming almost to move of their own accord, leaving Daniel as nothing more than a passenger.

Occasionally, Daniel would venture out to hunt, or set traps. He was very good at both, although he was used to pursuing larger creatures than the squirrels and birds he now supplemented his canned diet with. In the past, Daniel had chased after more stubborn prey, had set traps meant for far more intelligent targets. In the past, Daniel had not hunted alone. In the past, Daniel had not hunted to eat. Daniel reminded himself that that was all behind him. Now was the time to look to the future.

Through it all, of course, there was David. David, who somehow found time for Daniel, despite the attention demanded by the campers. David, who was the only person Daniel had had a proper interaction with in nearly two weeks. David, whose presence was as bright and radiant and warm, as all-encompassing, as mesmerizing, as brilliant as the sun itself. David, who seemed to have some hidden knowledge, some key, some unknowable, secret access to an endless fountain of boundless enthusiasm and unceasing kindness. David, David, David.

It had not rained since Daniel had caught the flu. The sky had been clear and bright, with only soft, light clouds gently drifting through the blue expanse. In spite of Daniel’s continued nausea and dizziness, his occasional coughing fits, and — thankfully decreasing — nosebleeds, he was feeling rather good about the way things were going.

He was meditating on the flat rock behind his cabin when David arrived. Daniel had sensed his approach, had heard the heavy steps of boots on grass, on dirt, on stones. Exhaling slowly through his nose, Daniel slowly unfolded his legs and sat back, relaxing his rigid posture as David walked closer.

“Hey, Daniel! I brought you something!” David, peppy as always, waved and smiled. Rather, he smiled and attempted to wave; in his arms he carried a standard camp mattress, thin and old, but still better than the cabin floor. Encumbered as he was, he could not wave. He tried to regardless.

Daniel faked a jovial laugh, opening his mouth just enough, closing his eyes for just the right amount of time, tilting his head back at just the right angle.

“Thanks, David. That sure beats sleeping right on the ground! Well, in a sleeping bag, but still! You know what I mean!”

“Why of course, Daniel! And you are so right. I knew you needed a mattress, and I finally managed to sneak one past Gwen! Isn’t that great?”

“Sure is, David. Say, I was just about to go check my hunting traps. Wanna come with?” Daniel allowed his outward demeanor to remain relaxed and inviting, matching David’s enthusiastic tone with an equal passion. In truth, he would prefer to go alone, but he had to make an effort to keep up appearances. It was excusable, having lapses when struck ill with the flu. His unfriendliness and overt violence could be chalked up to delirium. But now that the flu was gone, it was again time to filter and vett every one of his thoughts, every word out of his mouth, every action that he took. Daniel had to be the same person that David had known him as; had to be cheerful, charismatic, friendly, competent, understanding, intelligent, knowledgeable, inviting, and on and on and on.

It would not do to raise suspicion.

“I’d love to, Daniel! Unfortunately, I have to get back to camp. Your cabin’s pretty far away, and Gwen can’t hold down the fort without me forever! I’m just here to drop off this mattress.”

“Aw, really? That sure is a shame. I was really looking forward to spending some time with you, David. It feels like you’re always coming and going. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for all the help, it’s just… you know. It gets awful lonely out here, all on my lonesome.”

“I completely understand! And I’d love to spend more time with you too. It’s just, I have responsibilities as a camp counselor, and I really shouldn’t even be leaving camp like this…” Suddenly, David’s eyes widened, eyebrows rising excitedly as a wide grin broke out across his face. “Why don’t you come stay in the counselor’s cabin with me and Gwen? You could have a bed, food, and all that good stuff!”

No, no, no. Not this question. How was he to respond? What possible explanation would there be for refusing? How could Daniel proceed without alerting David to the fact that something was wrong? Terribly, terribly wrong.

Daniel had anticipated the question, of course. It had been inevitable. Unfortunately, he completely blanked, all pre-prepared responses vaporizing instantly.

“I, uh. Um. Ah… well, that is, you see… that is to say, well… and that’s really…” Daniel floundered for words, tongue feeling slow and clumsy in his suddenly dry mouth.

David frowned, just slightly. David frowned, his eyes holding concern — concern and barely-contained questions. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, moving as though to step closer to Daniel, swaying with indecision for a moment before becoming still. For a tense moment, the clearing was thick with the awkward energy of two men failing to understand one another.

Then Daniel regained his composure and it was over, nervousness sliding off him like water on plastic, each glistening bead rolling down and down until it gracefully fell to the ground. He smiled and waved his hand in front of himself, infusing humor into his voice, a sort of dismissiveness that indicated a light-hearted joke at one’s own expense.

“My, I really got tongue-tied there, didn’t I?” Here, Daniel let out a small chuckle, willing a friendly sparkle into his eyes as he continued. “What I meant to say was that you’ve just done so much for me already! I would hate to intrude on your camp and your work—”

“But Daniel! You wouldn’t be intruding at all! I’m inviting you to stay at camp.”

“Really, David? Even after what happened last time I was there?” Daniel kept his tone light, almost playful. He couldn’t reveal his true emotions, couldn’t reveal the bitterness and hatred still lingering inside him. So he smiled, tilted his head cheekily towards David, lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Psh, what are you talking about Daniel? Everybody loved you!”

Well, that was David. What else had Daniel expected? For David to remember their previous animosity and immediately forsake him? Of course not. That wasn’t in David’s nature. Really, it was quite a ridiculous notion; David had helped him so far, had helped him for about a week now. There was no reason to suspect a sudden change of heart, least of all from a man like David.

Daniel mentally berated himself, reminded himself to deal only in reality. There was no use in fantasizing about betrayal, or catastrophic failures, or sudden deviations from well-documented patterns. There was no use in such a wasteful activity. Daniel had to refrain from engaging in such nonsense, in such counterproductive thoughts. Refocusing on the here and now, Daniel directed a flattered, almost sheepish — yet confident — expression on David.

“Aw, you really think so?” Daniel spoke as though genuinely asking for David’s assurance. As if he needed such a thing. As if it really mattered, in the grand scheme of things.

“Of course! We’ve missed you an awful lot, you know. I think the kids would just love to see you again!”

It struck Daniel just how clueless David was. Of course, he already knew that from their previous encounters, and yet, the confirmation of it seemed to make it all the more real. It was such a shame, really. It almost felt as though Daniel were cheating, somehow. As though by knowing what he did, by having the advantage over David, by being aware of the full reality of things, he were somehow bypassing some crucial test. As though he were a committing a fraud, a grand lie. As though he were cheating a high-stakes game.

Part of Daniel wanted David to know the truth, wanted him to figure out his true nature. Part of Daniel wanted to tell David outright, wanted to see his reaction, wanted to see if David would still be as kind and generous as he’d been. This desire was held back only by the knowledge that the only possible outcome would be imprisonment, possibly for the rest of his life. Still, the urge was — for all its irrationality — so incredibly powerful.

“I think,” Daniel began, slowly, thoughtfully. “I think it would be best if I stayed here. I’m not sure your campers like me as much as you think they do.”

David’s face fell. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.” Just a small sound, a small parting of lips, a quiet “oh.” Just that, nothing more. Just an expression of disappointment barely loud enough to reach Daniel’s ears, just loud enough to traverse the distance between the two of them, to settle in Daniel’s stomach like a heavy dose of bromethalin.

“Well, I’m sure you’re very busy, and I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties!” Daniel stood, closed the distance between himself and David, reached for the mattress. “Let me carry the mattress to the cabin. You’ve gotta get back to camp!”

Reluctantly, David handed the mattress over to Daniel and turned. He began walking back towards the river, then paused and looked over his shoulder. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, words already half-formed on his lips, eyes uncertain. Daniel smiled and waved, and after the briefest of moments, David returned the gesture.

“See you later,” they called in unison, cheerful tones overlapping until it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.

David disappeared into the woods, and Daniel relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. He let his fake smile slide from his face, let his eyes harden, his eyebrows return to their flat, inexpressive perches. It had only been a couple weeks since the hospital, and Daniel was already out of practice. He had to regain his stamina, had to retrain himself to perform for others, to give them what they wanted — what they expected.

Daniel carried the mattress into the cabin, placing it on the flattest section of the floor, draping blankets and sleeping bag over it. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Nodding to himself, Daniel exited the cabin once more, hiking pack on his back. He quickly mapped out the rest of his day. Traps, hunting, napping, cooking, dinner, bed.

Daniel set off at a brisk pace, feeling for all the strain somehow revitalized from David’s visit. Today would be a good day, he decided.

~~~

For the rest of the afternoon, Daniel relaxed. After he returned from hunting — several small animals in hand — he prepared them, skinning and gutting each one with a practiced precision. He lit a small fire and set the meat out on skewers to cook. The fire leapt in its pit, each flame climbing upward then collapsing back down, reabsorbed into itself, an endless cycle, a sort of rhythm, a self-contained dance. Within it, the sticks glowed orange and yellow, grew brittle and black, broke off, fell, turned gray. Each piece of falling wood brought with it a cascade of sparks, small specks of light that faded away, still trying to find something to devour.

Daniel laid on his back, head tilted so he could watch the fire, hands folded on his stomach. His bare calves rested on the cool grass, felt the tickle of each blade as he shifted ever so slightly. A low buzzing hummed all around him, insects lazily making their way through the field, lethargic and languorous in the midday sun. A soft breeze rushed by, carrying to delicate fragrance of wildflowers and pine. Daniel inhaled deeply, breathing in until his lungs were completely full, then slowly releasing the used air, pushing it out, imagining his lungs contracting like two fleshy balloons.

Something tickled his eyelashes, and his eyes fluttered in response. Daniel reached a hand up to his face, picked off the offending object. It was an inchworm, green and small, wriggling desperately between his thumb and forefinger. Lazily, he rolled it between his fingers, turning it this way and that, manipulating its form as it attempted to escape. For a moment, Daniel imagined himself as the worm, vulnerable and soft, held with the measured force of a man’s hand. He imagined himself contorting his body, moving this way and that, screaming without making a sound.

Then Daniel pressed his fingers together, and the inchworm did not struggle anymore. It did not struggle, or move, would not do anything ever again. Disgusted, Daniel flicked the sticky remains away, reaching down and wiping his fingers on the grass. He returned his hand to his chest, resting it there as he let his eyes slide shut again.

~~~

The next day, David brought fresh clothes. He carried them in his hiking pack, along with a laundry bag to collect items in need of washing. David arrived as Daniel was finishing his lunch, one part canned fruit, two parts fresh meat. Daniel held up the last piece of squirrel as David approached him, immediately throwing up a fake smile and waving the other man over.

“Want some?” he asked cheerfully, gesturing to the meat impaled on the end of a stick.

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to take any of your food!” A predictable response from David.

“Are you sure? It’s good,” Daniel encouraged, holding the stick out a little further.

“Really, Daniel. I didn’t come here to steal your food,” here, he chuckled. “I came to bring you these!” Grinning widely, David slid the hiking pack off his back and swung it around to this front, unzipping it and pulling out two neatly folded outfits with a flourish.

“Why David! That’s so kind of you!” Daniel patted the flat patch of ground directly to his left, a nonverbal request for the other man to sit. David sat.

“Listen, David,” Daniel began, holding up a hand as David opened his mouth to interrupt. “No, David. Listen. You’ve been so helpful, and so generous! The least I can do is offer you something to eat after the long hike over here. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well…” David began, clearly disagreeing but not wanting to start an argument. His eyes were looking away from Daniel, his brows were furrowed. His hiking pack was in his lap, and he was playing with the straps idly.

“Well?” Daniel prompted, moving the stick towards David.

“Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt,” David finally conceded, reaching out a hand and accepting the offered meat. Their hands touched, and Daniel hastily drew back, cradling his hand as though he’d burned himself on the cooking fire, and not simply brushed hands with David.

David, for his part, did not seem to notice.

~~~

The next few days proceeded in much the same manner: Daniel worked on regaining his strength and saw to his own basic needs. David visited, in either the early afternoon or late evening, bringing Daniel gifts of food and clothes. Sometimes, they would exchange a few words; other times, they would sit together, conversing, occasionally for what felt like hours. It was not unpleasant, Daniel had long since come to decide. It was not wholly pleasant, either. They usually spoke of nothing in particular — small talk, or a simple comparison of nature-based knowledge. There was always something unspoken, always that clinging sense of doubt.

For Daniel still planned to ruin David’s life, did he not? Daniel was still planning to exact revenge.

Daniel continued to enjoy David’s company nonetheless. He was kind, made sure to be a gracious host. He offered David food that he had caught himself, showed David how he constructed his traps. Daniel was friendly, and welcoming, and just as enthusiastic as David. It would not do to bite the hand that fed, at least, not yet. It would not do to behave in a manner that did not line up with David’s image of him, would not do to raise suspicion.

So he continued the little dance, replying to David in measured ways, saying what he knew David expected to hear. Daniel slid back into the rhythm of performing, of concealing himself so thoroughly as to lose track of where he ended and the lie began.

The days were clear, mild, with warm breezes and cloudless skies. They often spoke of this, spending entire conversations on nothing but the weather. It was exhausting. It was easy. It was normal. It was familiar.

The more they spoke, however, the more they moved beyond such safe, simple topics. David was a surprisingly complex man, for someone so seemingly simple-minded. While his kindness appeared misplaced and naive, Daniel came to find that his generosity was just as deliberate — if not quite as calculating — as Daniel’s own. It came as quite a shock, at first, when Daniel said something that made David react in a way that suggested it had managed somehow to reach beneath his impenetrable cheerfulness.

“Did I say something?” Daniel had asked, a hint of legitimate concern entering his voice, although the concern was less for David than it was for the fact that Daniel felt in that instant that he had misjudged the man. Daniel was good at judging people, was good at finding out what made them tick. He had worried, in that moment, that he had come to inaccurate conclusions about the man, had made a crucial miscalculation. He had worried, in that moment, that he had made some key error in the way he thought about David. In a way, he had.

David had paused a long moment, had seemed to go catatonic. Then, in a near-whisper, he had said, “Well, somebody’s gotta keep trying, right?”

And Daniel had found himself at a complete loss for words.

~~~

Daniel was sitting on the roof of the cabin — head tilted back, eyes gazing wistfully at the stars — when David next visited. He heard him before he saw him, heard the light snapping of twigs, the rustle of leaves. He heard the sound of hiking boots, green and well-loved, felt the eyes of another sentience searching him out. Daniel crawled to the edge of the roof when he heard his name called, waved down at the shadowy figure standing a short distance from the cabin.

“Oh, there you are!” David said, walking towards the cabin, finding handholds to begin his climb up the side of it.

In the light of the full moon, the clearing around the cabin seemed almost to glow, ethereal and otherworldly. In the light of the full moon, Daniel could make out David’s movements with ease. In the light of the full moon, Daniel could see David’s hands reaching for vines, grasping, pulling his body up, could see soft red hair swaying, blue-tinted and dark, could see the delicate strand of each eyelash.

Then, David was hauling himself over the ledge of the rooftop and Daniel hastily scrambled away, offering a clear space beside him to sit. David settled down, stretching his legs out in front of him, long arms stretching behind his body, propping himself up. David’s eyes came to rest on Daniel, who turned his head away, pretending not to notice, pretending not to feel the attention, not to hear the unspoken questions. Daniel turned his head away and did not speak. And for a while, neither did David.

It was alright, Daniel decided, this. This what? Just this. He wasn’t rightly sure of what exactly was alright, only knew that it was. It was alright, and he did not need to know any more than that.

Daniel breathed deeply, filling his lungs with crisp night air, closed his eyes, opened his ears. In his ears, crickets, leaves, frogs. In his nose, lavender, and pine. Cedar. Birch. He wondered what David smelled, wondered what David heard, wondered — more importantly — what David thought. What was he thinking? About what did he usually think? What occupied his mind in the dead of night, alone in his cabin? What occupied his mind in the heat of the day, when he didn’t have errant campers to worry about?

What did he think of Daniel?

“So,” David began, breaking Daniel out of his reverie. “What…” He trailed off, then began again, tentative. “Why are you…?” David rubbed the back of his neck, shifted his legs, bit his bottom lip.

“What brought you back here?”

Daniel froze. He’d hoped that David wouldn’t ask that, hoped that David’s naivety would extend far enough to prevent him from asking that. Clearly, it hadn’t.

Daniel replied to a different question, one worded the same way as David’s own, but holding an entirely different meaning. He misconstrued the question David had asked, turning it into another, exchanging it for something easier, safer, to answer. “Well, this cabin was the only standing structure in probably a mile’s radius,” he chuckled. “And I was too weak to build my own shelter. I walked for a bit, and this was the best I could find, so I sort of just settled in.”

David shook his head. “No, I mean what brought you back here, to the woods? You were wearing a hospital gown, Daniel. Why’d you leave?”

Daniel cast his mind about, desperately searching for an answer, any answer, that would be reasonable, logical. He searched high and low, all throughout the terrain of his mind, at the top of mountains, at the bottom of seas, but there was nothing to be found. In the weeks that he’d been living in the cabin, Daniel had thought much about the inevitability of the question, had not found a suitable answer. He could not find one now.

“It just felt like I was supposed to.” It was vague enough, and true — hopefully David wouldn’t press the issue. He did.

“What do you mean?”

Daniel took a slow, deep breath, focusing his gaze out at the night sky, intently, as though he could find an answer there. A brief few moments, and Daniel opted for a half-truth, worded in such a way that it would be understood by David as something positive at best, innocuous at worst.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I actually came back to see you again, David.”

Here, David’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a small “o,” eyebrows shooting up, threatening to rise off his face and into his windswept hair. Daniel glanced over at David, quickly, gauging his reaction. David opened and closed his mouth several times, confused, looking like a salamander taking its first gulps of air.

“Really?” David finally managed to force out, barely more than a whisper, a breeze. “But… why?”

Swallowing thickly, Daniel turned his body to face David, lowered his gaze from the stars to the man sitting beside him.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either.” As he spoke, he examined David’s face closely, not quite sure what he was looking for, but not finding it.

“...What?” David looked just as bewildered as before.

“Well, you’re not special!” It slipped out before Daniel could reign it back in, before he could hold back his deficiencies, his frustration.

David wore a shocked expression, eyes full of hurt and confusion. His eyes flicked back and forth, watching Daniel’s left eye, then right, searching. Searching for truth in his words, searching for lies, searching for an unfinished thought, for meaning deeper than his words.

“That is, you are special. But, not really. Nobody is. Everyone… well, sometimes…” This was going horribly. No, he was being too direct. Or not direct enough? Daniel couldn’t think, couldn’t get his thoughts in proper order. His thoughts chased each other in circles, in spheres, in strange multi-dimensional circuits, unable to connect or coalesce into anything meaningful. So he fell back on an old lecture, an old speech he had heard many times, had recited even more. One designed to inform, and teach, to assure, and explain.

“You are not special,” Daniel began again, voice calm and steady, no longer halting and stuttering, tripping over consonants and skimming over vowels. “You are not special. It’s important to understand that. Nobody is special, but some people, sometimes, are. In certain moments, some people are special enough to warrant curiosity. With enough special moments, some people require closer attention, need to be examined and analyzed.”

David’s brows furrowed. He looked as though he wanted to interrupt, to ask a question maybe, or to disagree. But he didn’t. Daniel thought he might, but he didn’t. David sat and listened, and he did not interrupt. Daniel kept on speaking.

“Of course, nobody is special. Ultimately, nobody is anybody at all. Everyone is someone, so nobody can be anybody. Does that make sense? Well, it’s true. In the vastness of the universe, we are smaller than dust, smaller than the mites that live on specks of dust. We are small, and plagued with equally small concerns. All around us, people go about, oblivious to the Infinity. Little people worrying about little things. Silly things. And yet, we all hold the potential to be so much more than that. We don’t have to be confined to the physical world, to this reality! We can shed our limitations, we can be transcendent!”

Daniel realized that he’d come away from the original point he had been trying to make, realized that he was gazing off into the distance, hands clasped, expression wistful. He realized this, but could not bring himself to stop, to cut his speech short, not now that the words were flowing like water over the side of a waterfall, like clouds of dust and gas through space.

To the left of him — to the right of David — a small cluster of fireflies rose lazily from the grass below. They spun and circled around each other, winking on and off, pulsing as they drifted closer.

“We can become special,” Daniel continued. “We can do anything, if we stay on course. If we avoid suppressive persons, if we do things by the book; if we withhold no overts and decrypt all of our engrams; if we examine ourselves, inside and out; if we learn to control our bodies; if we remain positive and upstat; if we observe the Eight Dynamics; if we strive for a higher chronic emotional tone; if we do all of these things, we can progress far beyond what most people think possible.”

There it was, the familiar shiver down his spine. Such meaningful, powerful words. Though he was the one speaking, Daniel couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the familiarity, the solidness, the magnitude of what was being said. Every time he heard those words, he felt compelled to take action, to do something. As it was, there was not much he could do, so he simply sat there, humming with frenetic energy, waiting for David’s response.

“Uh…” David shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes from Daniel’s. His face cycled through contradictory expressions, from confusion to anxiety to pity to empathy. He didn’t seem to know what to make of Daniel’s words, didn’t seem to have digested it all just yet. That was okay. Most people didn’t understand at first. Some people were openly hostile, did not want to understand. But David was different. He was open and trusting, and smarter than he let on. Daniel was glad that he had shared what he had. Daniel was glad that he revealed the truth — at least, a part of it — to David.

And then David opened his mouth, hesitantly. “Daniel, are you… okay?”

Well. That was not what Daniel had been expecting at all. And now David was looking at him like he was crazy, like he was delusional or unbalanced. Daniel did not like that look. He did not like being looked at in that way, did not like that it was David’s face that was looking at him in such a way.

“Of course!” Daniel faked a smile — wide and confident, trying to reach out to David with his mind, trying to make David see what he did, that there was more to life than he knew. There was more, there were bigger and better things, and… Daniel paused, cocking his head to the side. What did he care if David knew? What did he care if David saw the world as he did? When Daniel finally got his revenge, the point would be rather moot.

“Daniel…” David, speaking slowly, hesitance clear in his features, thrown into shadowy relief by the moonlight. “Are you sure?” Here, David reached forward, grabbing Daniel firmly — but gently — by the shoulders, looking into the other man’s eyes intently. Daniel saw concern, and pity. Mostly, he saw ignorance.

“David, please,” he scoffed. “Of course I’m sure! You know me!”

That didn’t seem to be the answer David was looking for, as the man continued to search his eyes, mouth set in a tiny frown that looked entirely out of place on his usually warm, cheerful face. Daniel took a deep breath. Something compelled him to speak, compelled him to say something he by all rights shouldn’t have.

“David, have you ever lied to someone?” Daniel was surprised by the earnestness with which he asked the question, was shocked by the question itself. He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, wasn’t sure what had prompted such a question.

David appeared rightfully taken aback, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. He blinked twice, slowly, taking slow, measured breaths. Then he let go of Daniel’s shoulders and sat back, looking up at the stars in an uncharacteristically wistful way. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I have.”

Daniel watched David’s face, saw the thoughtful eyes, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He watched the other man shift, finding a comfortable position on the rough, uneven rooftop. He watched David’s fingers tap lightly on the wood below them, watched the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest.

_The night was still and quiet. Daniel sat on the porch, gazing up at the mysterious lights in the night sky. His father sat on the bench next to him, a solid presence that kept him grounded. Daniel saw a blinking light cross the stretch of blackness above, pulsing at regular intervals. On, off. On, off. On, off._

_Daniel turned to his father._

_“What’s that?” he asked, pointing a single thin finger at the moving object._

_His father looked up from the book he was reading, followed the direction of Daniel’s outstretched finger until he, too saw the blinking light in the sky._

_“That’s an airplane,” he replied, “flying so high that its light is as small as the stars.”_

_Daniel frowned._

_“No, what’s it really?”_

_His father opened his mouth—_

David spoke again, drawing Daniel back to the present. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Daniel couldn't quite remember what had been said before they had lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Had he spoken last? Had David? What had they been talking about again?

“Have you ever lied to someone?” David asked, still not looking Daniel’s way.

Oh, right.

“Of course,” Daniel said, no longer bothering to infuse his speech with false cheerfulness. “Everyone has.”

“You know what I mean, Daniel.” There it was; there was the side of David that Daniel had not anticipated, the side of him that revealed his maturity and experience from beneath the almost childlike facade.

“If you mean have I ever lied about something important, then yes again.” Daniel looked away from David, examined the treeline, the grass and rocks in the clearing around the cabin. He looked up at the sky, then back down at the ground. He looked, as though hoping to find a way to say all the things which needed to be said. Hoping to find a way to say all the things which he was keeping hidden. Daniel felt David’s eyes on him, but refused to meet them.

“Do you regret it?” It was barely above a whisper, and Daniel thought for a moment that he’d simply imagined David’s voice. But then it came again, louder, and Daniel could not deny that it was David. “Do you regret lying?”

Daniel considered the question, turning it over the way one does a Rubix cube, examining it closely, as though an answer could be teased out of it, rather than needing to be brought from outside.

“I… do regret it,” he finally admitted. Saying it aloud made him realize that it was the truth. He had planned to lie, but now Daniel felt that he’d spoken his true feelings, had inadvertently uncovered a part of himself that he now wished to bury again. It was not something he had anticipated. It was new. It was frightening. Daniel let out a shaky breath and reminded himself that this was an aberration. It was an aberration, and he knew exactly what to do with aberrations.

“What did you lie about?” David, sounding hesitant and shaky, not sure what response to expect from Daniel.

I’m lying to you right now, Daniel wanted to say. I’m lying to you right now, have been lying to you since we met. I have to keep lying to you, because if I stop, this will stop. We’ll stop talking, and my freedom with stop. Everything will come to an end if I don’t keep lying to you.

But Daniel didn’t say any of that. Instead, he simply said, “It’s personal,” and David nodded like he understood.

“What did you lie about?” Daniel was not sure why he asked; he wholly expected David to give a non-answer as well. It just seemed the thing to do, seemed that asking the question was the right thing to do.

David smiled wryly, a self-deprecating smile. “It was stupid,” he said. “But it hurt a heck of a lot of people.” And then, after a pause, as though considering whether to continue, “I’m through with lying, though. It won’t happen again.”

Daniel nodded like he understood.

For a while after that, the two sat in silence, only the sounds of the night forest reaching their ears. Crickets and frogs sang out in the night, a far-off owl hooting once before going silent again. The darkness hung between them, fresh with the smell of grass and wood and dirt. The trees stretched high above them, as though they believed that one day, they could touch the sky. Daniel stared up at the stars, as though he believed that one day, he would be among them.

“I’d better get going,” David said, moving to rise. He planted his hands on the roof, pushed himself up, bent his legs and straightened them beneath himself, standing.

Daniel did not move. He did not speak, as there was nothing to be said. David carefully picked his way over to the edge of the roof, turning and beginning his descent down the side of the building.

“Daniel, I want to help you,” he said. Daniel didn’t look at David. He didn’t acknowledge that David had spoken, although in his mind, he latched onto the words, began to tease them apart, to grasp them and analyze them and demand their meaning.

Daniel heard scraping and rustling as David climbed down the side of the cabin. He heard the unmistakable sound of David reaching the ground, of pebbles kicked loose, of bushes disturbed as David pushed their branches aside. He heard David’s footsteps as he began to walk away, back towards the river, the camp. He heard the occasional sound of boot on rock as David made his way across the clearing, heard leaves rustling as David dove back into the woods. All this, he heard, but not once did he turn to look.

~~~

It was as though the conversation had never happened. Rather, it was as though they both were pretending the conversation had never happened. They never spoke of it, and never tried to dig deeper in their conversations with one another. They kept to small talk, safe topics. Ice cream, summer sports, anything but personal or probing questions. It was an uneasy period, unspoken rules guiding their every interaction. Daniel never asked David about his past, and in turn, was never questioned about his.

Yet, for all their posturing, there was an undeniable shift, something almost imperceptible, but tangible all the same. David certainly knew quite a good deal more about Daniel than intended, and Daniel had a better understanding of David’s nature than he had anticipated. It was ridiculous, to think that all it took was one uncomfortable conversation to be able to read someone better than he’d been able to read anyone for a long, long while, and yet Daniel could not deny that his ability to know from a glance what David was thinking had been improved significantly. David had not even told him much of anything about himself. It simply did not make sense. Then again, none of Daniel’s feelings towards David made much sense anyhow.

Measurable changes were also wrought; David began to come fishing with Daniel, began to come with Daniel when he checked his traps, spent time skinning, cleaning, and cooking the animals. David brought a deck of cards over to the cabin, and the two men played as many games as require only two players.

Sometimes, when it was particularly warm, Daniel would go down to the river for a quick dip; David would join him, splashing into the water with a broad grin and friendly laugh. One time, after they’d left the water, after the adrenaline had faded and the moisture begun to dry from their skin, the two of them had laid on the grassy banks, side by side. Daniel had glanced over at David, had thought about asking him a question containing words like “childhood” and “upbringing,” had decided against it. Instead, Daniel had simply closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his own breathing.

Aside from brief — inconsequential, really — deviations like that, things between him and David were fine. They were fine. Not good, not bad, just fine. Fine was fine by Daniel. Fine seemed to be fine by David as well. There was no need to try to broach uncomfortable topics, or learn more about each other, no need to get any closer than they already were.

It was a shame that a part of Daniel was telling him otherwise.


End file.
